


In the Pursuit of Happiness

by sweetdreamsofgelato (Dolceamara)



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Humour, Quasi-slow burn/Eventually Smut, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:36:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27401332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dolceamara/pseuds/sweetdreamsofgelato
Summary: Henry realises he is in love with his best friend
Relationships: Henry Cavill/Reader
Comments: 24
Kudos: 97





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Okay, so after a loooooong wait, I come bearing a new multi-part story. 
> 
> A while back I did a prompt request and received quite a few more than I anticipated, but a lot of the requests were for the same prompts, so I decided to compile them into one longer story, instead of doing a bunch of short ones. If you are waiting for a response to your request, it may be in here!
> 
> I still have a pile of other prompts and requests to get through, so I apologise to anyone who is still waiting. I’ve been dealing with RL bullshit, which has put a damper on my roll. Things are starting to level out a bit, so hopefully I will be back on a regular writing schedule soon!
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. This story will be at least three parts, but possibly more depending on inspiration and how the story unfolds. 

It was common knowledge (at least to those who knew him well) that Henry had two sides: the eternal pragmatist and the true romantic, and they were perpetually in conflict. 

Whilst it wasn’t a huge secret that he longed for love, it wasn’t widely known that he truly craved the fairytale. That serendipitous moment when he meets his soulmate, falls in love, and all the pieces of life magically come together in perfect formation. 

His long sought after yet frustratingly elusive happily ever after.

Just like in films, which Logical Henry proclaimed was patently ridiculous, because if anyone understood that love in films was a carefully crafted illusion, it was he. 

It was also true that he understood, rather painfully, that long-term love and relationships were neither perfect nor easy and required constant effort. He would be the first to admit that tempering his romantic aspirations was vital for preventing irreparable disillusionment. 

Yet, Henry thought as he laid in bed and stared pitifully toward the ceiling, despite all of his life experiences pitching him toward the realm of disenchanted dreamers, his heart still yearned for that storybook love.

Of course, he’d be a damned fool to assume everything would be handed to him in a tidy little package. 

He let out a harsh laugh at his own expense as he rolled over onto his stomach, pulling his pillow tightly around the back of his head in a futile attempt to drown out his thoughts. 

He had a rare weekend off, and he skipped his morning workout in hopes of catching up on some rest, but as his mind and heart warred, rest was just as much a fruitless pursuit today as it had been for weeks. 

Henry was in love. Head over heels, hopelessly lost in love.

And it was a goddamn mess. 

Granted, he still hoped for the happily ever after, but as for the rest…

His anxiety was through the roof and his focus was shot. Despite his appetite, his stomach roiled violently at the thought of eating, and his mind was in such a constant whirr that sleep was nigh impossible.

And if he managed to sleep, he would not categorise it as restful.

Fitful, maybe. Lustful —he shuddered beneath his sheets— definitely, but absolutely nothing resembling peaceful.

Henry supposed that fate had pandered to his desire for the idealistic fantasy, just not in the way he’d hoped. He couldn’t say that falling in love was instantaneous. He’d known Y/N for so long, but it was for that same reason that it had come completely out of nowhere, and it had slammed into his heart with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer and left him utterly wrecked.

The moment. The fateful encounter when it all came crashing down on him was burned so indelibly in his mind. It had started innocently enough but derailed so quickly that he still wasn’t sure exactly what happened.

“You’ve stolen my puzzle again.” Henry set two steaming mugs on the side table before disappearing again into the kitchen.

“You snooze, you lose,” Y/N called out without a hint of apology.

Henry poked his head back through the entryway into the living room. “That is hardly fair play, considering I am busy being a gracious host.”

“Which I greatly appreciate.” She clicked the pen in her hand and didn’t look up from the folded paper in her lap. “Nearly as much as the fact that my best friend is a decrepit old man in disguise who still receives an actual newspaper.” She flashed him a cheeky grin. “With a crossword.”

Henry ignored the playful jab. “Reading an actual paper just _feels_ different,” he mused, “I can’t explain it.”

“Agreed,” she nodded, making quick marks on the puzzle.

Henry popped into the kitchen one more time before reemerging and making his way behind the sofa where Y/N sat. He leaned down slightly, just enough to hover over her shoulder. 

“That I can’t explain it?” he teased.

“That it feels different,” Y/N murmured as she cast him a sidelong glance. There was a momentary flash of seriousness across her face before her attention shifted back to the folded paper in her hands. 

She wiggled in her seat and cleared her throat before asking, “What’s Aristippus’ pursuit of pleasure?”

“Why would you think I know?”

She gave him a look. “Eight letters,” she continued, ignoring his previous question.

“Why don’t you just google it?” 

“That would be cheating.”

He braced one arm on the back of the sofa and leaned in further, bringing his face down next to hers as he said, “How is asking me for the answer any less so?”

“Brainstorming with another person is totally within the bounds of ethical...” Y/N’s lips parted slightly as she paused to think, “...crosswording.” 

His mouth slanted with amusement. “That’s not a word, and you didn’t ask to brainstorm, you asked for the answer.”

“In this particular instance, brainstorm was implied rather than explicitly stated,” Y/N quipped. Her nose scrunched and lips pursed before she filled another column with letters.

Henry acknowledged her argument with a hum yet remained unconvinced. “And who came up with that rule?”

“Me.”

“Convenient,” he muttered as he slid a small plate of biscuits between her and the newspaper. “Biscuit?”

Y/N gasped and dropped the paper and pen. “Jam biscuits! I didn’t think you liked these.” She gingerly plucked one from the plate and cradled it reverently in her hands. 

“I don’t, but I couldn’t eat them even if I did,” he replied as he set the remainder on the side table next to the mugs. “I’m in training.”

Henry’s tastes for sweets tended toward chocolate or caramel, but jam biscuits were Y/N’s favourite, and it just so happened that the local bakery made excellent ones (according to Y/N, at least), and he may or may not have dashed over to buy some earlier in the morning.

“Sorry,” she murmured through a sheepish smile before asking, “Raspberry?” 

“Of course.”

“You’re a prince amongst men, Cavill.” Y/N broke the cookie in half and let out a small moan of pleasure after she popped a piece into her mouth. “Oh god, these are amazing.” 

She turned and leaned slightly toward him, looking lost in bliss. “I could kiss you for getting them.”

Her warm breath brushed lightly against his cheek and something unmistakably electric permeated the air. The image of what could be flashed so swiftly and ruthlessly across his mind that his knees nearly buckled from the force. 

How easily could he turn and capture her lips with his? Slowly, tentatively, as it would be their first kiss, but perhaps — if he were extraordinarily lucky — she might permit him to delve deeper. To take every little part of her she was willing to give.

In his wayward fantasy, she would definitely lean into him and return his kiss with equal enthusiasm. The puzzle, the biscuits, everything would be abandoned when her fingers tangled into his hair and she tugged him closer, unable to resist the opportunity to get lost in him.

Y/N swallowed slowly, her eyes drifting down toward his lips before her gaze flicked away. 

Henry drew in a deep but shuddered breath, to settle himself or take in more of her presence, he wasn’t sure. Her scent, tinged with sugar and vanilla and something vaguely citrusy, wafted toward him and fogged his mind, slinging him straight back into his errant thoughts.

What sounds would she make? Would he coax desperate little whimpers or rasping moans as he took more of her? Would her lips carry the lingering taste of the rich buttery shortbread and tart jam, or something new and ineffable? Familiar yet unidentifiable. Something that only belonged to her. 

What did _she_ taste like?

He choked back a groan as heat fizzled across his skin. He never wanted an answer to a question so badly in his entire life.

The sound of Y/N shifting on the sofa broke his thoughts, and Henry felt the blood drain from his face. He shot upright and his knuckles went white as he gripped the back of the sofa in a desperate attempt to keep from keeling over. 

_Where in the_ bloody hell _had that come from?_

He must have fallen silent for too long because Y/N twisted around to look at him, her brow furrowed with concern. “Are you feeling unwell? You look a bit unsettled.”

“Just thinking.” Fucking christ, had his voice actually cracked?

She turned back around, and there was a faint, noncommittal hum before she said, “You don’t know, do you?” 

Y/N’s head dropped back onto the top of the sofa, exposing the delicate curve of her throat as she caught his gaze with hers. Henry’s eyes fell to the juncture of her clavicle, and he swallowed thickly whilst his mind continued its traitorous game. 

His gaze meandered back to hers, and he would swear on his life that there was a fire in her eyes that wasn’t there before, but just as quickly as he noticed it, it was gone. 

He cleared his throat and arched his brow in a feeble attempt to appear nonchalant. “Know what?” 

She shook the paper at him. “The answer.” 

Henry didn’t say as much, but in fact, he did know, and as he clung fiercely to the change in subject, he did his best to look unapologetically smug about it. 

Her face fell with the perceived injustice. “Even without a clue?”

“I’ve always enjoyed classical philosophy.” His voice was deliberately even. 

Her lips twitched into a rueful smile. “So you know, but you just won’t tell me.”

“I do enjoy watching you squirm.” 

_Shit, why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut?_

It wasn’t the first time they’d traded banter that bordered on flirtatious, but this was the first time that regret came in an instant. The reel in his mind immediately shifted from sharing a slow, drugging kiss to sharing a bed, and there was absolutely nothing slow and gentle about what they were doing in it.

 _What was_ wrong _with him?_

“Hmph, that is true enough,” she grumbled with feigned irritation as she straightened. “I shouldn’t tolerate it, but you placate me with biscuits and puzzles, so I may never find the will to leave.”

Henry’s gaze rested on the back of her head, and out of nowhere, it hit him clear as day. 

His happily ever after.

He could see it all. The lazy mornings and heated nights. Years of celebrations. Birthdays, anniversaries, and holidays. All of the good and the bad coming together in a lifetime filled with love and countless adventures. Children... 

If she wanted. 

His heart shuddered in his chest as the words rang silently in his mind.

_Don’t ever leave._

He grimaced into the mattress at the memory. It wasn’t the first time he had wondered what it would be like to kiss Y/N, but not in such vivid detail, _in her presence,_ and never with such lingering consequences. If he were completely honest, there was also the occasional provocative dream, but both surely were just a natural hazard of proximity. 

Though, he couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps she’d ever experienced the same.

Nope. No, he was not going to lie in bed and speculate whether Y/N ever imagined him in any sort of erotic context. No matter how tempting it was, he would not do it. Dwelling on his own imagination was dangerous enough, especially now that genuine feelings were involved.

Henry had always managed to dismiss any random curiosity, but this time it was different. He had tried to shake it. Banish it from his mind, but something — nay, everything was different. Even if it was only within himself, something had shifted past the point of no return. 

This revelation happened months ago. _Months_. Yet, here he was, not even a single step closer to where or with whom he wanted to be. The worst of it was that he only had himself to blame for the lack of progress. When he factored in the possibility that Y/N may not even be romantically interested and that confessing his feelings may irreparably damage their friendship…a bitter laugh bubbled up from his throat.

It was driving him absolutely mad.

One would think that being in love with his best friend would make the whole process much easier. 

One would be _wrong_. 

Unfortunately, it wasn’t entirely surprising. Despite popular opinion, he was not what one would classify as smooth. The second his heart was engaged, all reasonable intelligence vanished. He stumbled over his own thoughts and words, completely bereft of the ability to string a coherent sentence together, let alone be charming in any capacity.

As always in his case, nervousness led to awkwardness and awkwardness inevitably became avoidance. 

Avoidance resulted in unrelenting guilt.

Henry flopped back over and wearily scrubbed his face with his hands. Ever since love decided to broadside him, he found himself putting distance between them, if for no other reason to keep from making a complete ass of himself. She hadn’t questioned him about it, likely assuming —as he let her— that he was just busy (hello, more guilt), but for Henry, out of sight had not meant out of mind. 

Retrospectively, he recalled that Y/N’s behaviour had slowly changed as well. There had been moments — fleeting winks in time in which he swore her glances were more heated or the air between them was charged in a way that it had never been before.

Not to mention the almost kiss. The memory flashed across his mind again and left him moaning from the wasted opportunity and the second-hand embarrassment. 

Could it really be second-hand if it was he who was embarrassed in the first place? He wasn’t sure, but the more relevant question at the moment was had Y/N’s feelings changed or was it his hijacked imagination?

Henry hadn’t a clue either way — honestly, he hadn’t been around enough to deduce the reasons on his own, and even if he had, he was in so deep he no longer trusted his own judgement.

With an exasperated growl, he snatched his phone off the bedside table. 

He couldn’t take it anymore. It was now or never.

Regardless of any misgivings, he had to do it. Henry would suck it up and cobble together whatever courage he could and tell Y/N how he felt, and hope that it wouldn’t mark the beginning of the end of the best thing that ever happened to him. 

His frustration with himself dissolved into apprehension once he hit send. He let out a shaky breath as he carefully set his phone back and then quickly buried himself beneath his blankets. It was only a simple text asking if Y/N wanted to get together tonight, but his heart was racing and his palms were damp with sweat as if he had confessed every dark corner of his heart. 

Full disclosure, he had toyed with the idea of confessing his feelings via message, but it seemed so horribly lacking in courage and decency that he was immediately appalled for having entertained the notion at all.

He huddled in his downy cocoon, and what felt like lifetimes passed before the phone dinged.

The sound cracked in the silence, wrenching Henry from his thoughts and sending him scrambling to extricate himself from the covers. He dove through a pile of pillows toward his phone and managed to grab it on the second chime, but in his fervour, he overshot the edge of the bed. 

“Whoa whoa whoa!” He twisted to avoid clipping the corner of the table as he tumbled over the side, letting out a sharp grunt as his back connected with the floor when he landed in a tangled heap of limbs and linens. 

Kal, who had been snoozing on his own bed by the door, bolted from his cushion at the sound of upheaval and clamoured excitedly over Henry’s body as Henry fought to detangle himself from the sheets and the dog. 

He cursed and pushed Kal’s face — which was wedged under Henry’s chin— away from his own, “Kal, stop. I’m fine.”

Keeping Kal at bay with one hand, his other groped blindly for his phone, which had disappeared in the commotion. He let out a whoop of triumph when he found it under his left leg. 

His nerves momentarily forgotten, he immediately opened the message:

_Sorry can’t tonight, I have a date_

_What about tomorrow? xx_

“ _Date_?!” Henry shot bolt upright, the sheets twisting uncomfortably around his bare torso. The sudden movement and edge to his voice sent Kal skittering back. 

“Sorry,” he murmured, giving Kal a quick scratch in apology. 

His gaze fell back to his phone and his expression turned with displeasure. Perhaps even jealousy, if he cared to analyse his emotions in the moment —which he most definitely did not. 

“Date?” he repeated, this time the word was shaded more with dismay than with shock. His posture deflated as he gripped the phone in his hands.

Of course, she would be dating. Hell, why wouldn’t she be? Any man would be so lucky as to attract her attention. 

Henry scowled; he probably would have known about it if he hadn’t been distancing himself so he didn’t have to own up to his own feelings.

It should have occurred to him that Y/N may not be available tonight, in any sense of the word, just because he wanted her to be. Sure, she had rearranged plans for him more than once, but to assume she would (or worse, be surprised that she wouldn’t) seemed horribly insulting.

“Idiot,” he grumbled as he pinched his eyes shut. He heaved a beleaguered sigh as he tapped his phone against his palm. Henry knew exactly what he wanted to do, but he was far more conflicted about what he ought to do.

The right thing would be to leave her to her date and find another time to speak to her about his feelings, but it had taken him so long to work up the courage to tell her that it turned him selfish. If he didn’t do it today, he feared he never would. 

His jaw worked restlessly and his eyes flicked to the jogging kit draped over the armchair in the corner, and then to his trainers by the bedroom door. 

Of course, if she went on that date and actually liked the guy...well, then it wouldn’t matter how he felt or whether he told her. His chance would be lost.


	2. Chapter 2

Sometimes Y/N really wondered when she developed her unique talent for self-sabotage.

Probably around the same time as her tendency toward overthinking, and combined with a stubborn streak a mile wide...

Y/N stared at the little checkmark noting Henry had read her messages, and she wondered if she hadn’t just managed to hit an impressively subversive trifecta.

What was the texting equivalent to buyer’s remorse? Whatever it was, she definitely suffered from it. 

Nearly an hour passed without a reply. She set her phone down on the wide sill and tucked the edge of her plush fleece blanket under her chin. She nestled further into the window seat that overlooked her front garden, the small hedge outside offering just enough privacy to allow her to get comfortably lost in her thoughts. Leaning her forehead against the pane of the window, she watched as her steady breath left streaks of fog across the frosty glass.

Since the very beginning, their friendship was remarkably comfortable. There wasn’t anyone else in her life with which she could claim she had such an effortlessly uncomplicated relationship. 

Conversations flowed with ease, and their never-ending supply of banter always had a friendly edge. Sure, they often needled each other to the point of madness, but there was never anything malicious about it.

Well, that’s how it _used_ to be, anyway.

Even though Henry had broken the recent radio silence and extended an invitation (one which she was still conflicted about rejecting), the reality was that he was drifting away. His presence—both physical and emotional—had become noticeably distant. 

That wasn’t terribly alarming on its own, particularly if work was keeping him busy, which it always seemed to be, but when paired with the fact that their rapidly shrinking number of interactions were becoming progressively more awkward, she was now officially worried.

What few conversations they did have were far more stilted than she could ever remember. Y/N had tried to pick up the slack and fill in the voids of uncomfortable silence, but it hadn’t taken long before she felt intrusive and bothersome.

It _hurt_ , and for her, it was a singular sort of pain. She’d never suffered this particular kind of heartbreak before, or perhaps more accurately, the sorrow had never been so afflictive.

Y/N would not characterise herself as a social creature, and she never minded being left to her own devices, so the all-consuming nature of the loneliness she now felt was somewhat surprising. 

Slowly being pushed from anyone’s life never felt good, she was certain, but when that someone meant as much as Henry did to her, the grief of the potential loss gripped her heart like a vice.

She closed her eyes and rubbed idly at the dull ache in her chest. 

Y/N wanted to broach the subject with him, but every time an opportunity presented itself, she could never follow through. Admittedly, there was still a chance she might be reading too far into it (a notoriously persistent habit of hers), so she was trying her damnedest to not make a mountain out of a molehill. 

However, more to the point, to verbally acknowledge the situation would make it real, and the fear of losing the one person who meant the most to her was paralysing.

Her eyes drifted back open, and she rolled her forehead across the glass when her attention caught on a flurry of far-off movement outside. Someone was sprinting down the street that extended perpendicular to the front of her home. Their pace was much faster than that of a usual jog, and they erratically weaved in and out, gracelessly dodging other pedestrians on the footpath. 

As the runner got closer to her field of view, her eyes grew increasingly wider.

 _No_. It couldn’t be.

Could it?

Y/N frantically shoved off the blanket and rose to her knees on the window seat, pressing her face against the frigid glass as she strained for a better look. 

It certainly looked like it.

She cupped her hands around her eyes.

It definitely was.

Her thoughts forgotten, Y/N scrambled off her perch, cursing when she tripped over her blanket on the way down. Kicking it away, she rushed out the door, stood under the narrow portico of her front step and watched, with equal parts horror and amusement, as Henry dashed toward her home.

He was at a full-tilt, running as if pursued by the devil himself. It was quite a show of bravery (or stupidity, rather) given the icy pavement.

When he reached the edge of her street, he barely lost speed as he leapt onto the footpath and yanked open the wrought iron gate to her front garden. In his recklessness, Y/N was surprised he hadn’t hurdled it.

She was extremely grateful he hadn’t.

When Henry’s feet hit the paved walk in her garden. He slipped wildly over a thin layer of ice, his arms pinwheeling comically as he tried to regain his footing, but it only sent him spinning in the opposite direction.

He fell arse over tip, overturning her bins in a raucous clatter before he landed with a jarring thud on a small patch of dormant grass.

With a small cry of shock, Y/N hurried down the steps, being extra mindful of the patches of ice on the paving stones. 

Henry was flat on his back, the only movement coming from his chest, which heaved as he sucked in great gulps of air. The space between gasps was filled with some rather colourful language and something that sounded vaguely like, “Not again.”

“Are you all right?” Y/N asked as she knelt to assess the damage.

He panted and nodded earnestly.

After a quick once-over, she was satisfied that he didn’t require medical attention. She rose quickly to her feet, planted her hands on her hips, and regarded him very much like a mother would an unruly child.

“For fuck’s sake, Henry, what were you thinking?” 

He gave her no indication that he’d heard her, which was just as well since the question was mostly rhetorical.

One of his eyes was covered by his beanie gone askew, and the other was pinched shut as he concentrated on his breathing. His cheeks were stained a deep pink from the cold and exertion, and he shuddered as great puffs of breath billowed from his lips into the frigid air.

“Did you run _all_ the way here? In these conditions?” she asked, a bit louder this time, as she moved to right her bins.

He could only manage another emphatic nod of his head.

They might not live terribly far from each other, but she certainly didn’t consider it a comfortable running distance. Unless one were into that particular brand of torture, which she was decidedly not.

Y/N surveyed Henry’s appearance —a heaving, sweaty mess haphazardly sprawled on the ground, the damp already seeping into his sweats— and she was overcome by the hilarity of the whole spectacle.

Her light chuckles quickly intensified, and she threw her head back with a full-bodied laugh. Then she snorted, and when Henry glowered at her, she finally held up her hands, palms out, and made quick placating motions as she stifled her amusement.

Y/N extended her hand to help him up. Given that Henry’s size dwarfed just about everyone, she wasn’t sure it would be of much help, but it seemed the proper thing to do.

Henry grasped her forearm and pulled himself upright, taking care not to overwhelm her with his weight, and let out a low groan as he steadied himself.

“Are you really—” 

He made an impatient gesture, cutting Y/N off before she could finish asking again if he was really unhurt. Still fighting to control his breathing, he bent over, gripped his thighs tightly, and drew in deep and steady streams of air.

A sly grin crept across her lips. “Been slacking on your cardio, haven’t you?”

His head jerked up and he shot her a hot glare. His laboured breath exhaled forcefully through his nose, and he sounded very much like a disgruntled bull. Or what she suspected a disgruntled bull sounded like. She’d never had the pleasure of meeting one.

“We—,” he gasped.

That was it. Nothing else. She opened her mouth to respond, but he vehemently waved a finger at her.

Y/N audibly sighed, her gaze drifting toward the overcast sky. Her mouth twisted with an impatient frown as she waited, half expecting him to give her a sound reprimand for daring to question his physical prowess.

“—need to talk,” he finally wheezed.

Her lips parted in surprise before asking, “You ran all the way here, in the cold, to tell me _that_?” And because Y/N couldn’t seem to help but to point out the obvious, she added, “You could’ve just sent a text.”

Henry opened his mouth and then shut it again as if he had no reasonable response to that. Annoyance shadowed his expression, and after finally regaining some semblance of composure, his lips set in an irritated line as he stabbed a finger toward the paved walk under their feet. “You should salt that. It’s a hazard.”

She cast him a sideways glance and her chin angled up in a willful tilt. “It’s not if you don’t _run_ on it, and you still haven’t fully explained why you did in the first place.”

Henry hesitated, and Y/N wasn’t sure if it was genuine exasperation with her teasing or merely embarrassment that made the angular edge of his jaw clench. 

Appearing just on the cusp of responding, he paused for an improbable amount of time, then yanked the open flaps of his zip hood around his torso and finally said, “Fuck, it’s cold. Can we go inside?”

“Oh, of course.” She hugged her arms close to her body, his remark reminding her that she’d forgotten her coat, and her gaze shifted around warily. They were indeed out in the cold. In public. She grimaced; Y/N was certain her nosy neighbours would have no shortage of questions the next time they managed to corner her into a conversation.

She motioned for him to follow, quickly glancing back over her shoulder as she led him to the front door. “You are sure you’re not hurt?”

He winced as he rubbed at his lower back. “Only my pride.”

“Are you certain?” She turned away from him and carefully jogged up the steps. 

“I’m _fine_.”

Y/N pushed the door wide and entered with a jaunty step. “I could get you some paracetamol if you are in pain,” she offered as she gestured for him to enter.

“No need.”

“Or perhaps some _ice_ ,” she said, drawing out the last syllable with a hiss as Henry crossed the threshold.

“Shut up,” he grumbled without so much as a second glance, but as he passed, Y/N caught his mouth turning with the barest hint of a smile.

Henry kicked off his shoes, then peeled off his soiled hoodie and sweat-soaked beanie and hung them on the hooks by the door before he shuffled into the living room. He almost collapsed into the sofa, grimy joggers and all, when Y/N’s voice cut through the air.

“Don’t you _dare_ sit on my sofa like that!”

Henry visibly sagged and groaned, “Have mercy on me, Y/N.”

“Would you like to clean the upholstery afterwards?” She arched a brow at him and didn’t wait for an answer before pointing insistently toward the steps that led up to the bedrooms. “Go upstairs and change.” 

Y/N snagged Henry’s hoodie and beanie from the hooks, pinching them between her fingers whilst she held the offending garment away from her body with outstretched arms. Her face scrunched as she sniffed deliberately in his direction. “Better yet, take a shower.”

Henry had crashed at her place so many times she’d lost count. It was typically after a pub crawl that left them in an alcohol-soaked stupor, following a night in of takeaway and television, or when the media occasionally hounded his own residence and he needed sanctuary, but eventually Y/N suggested that he leave some spare clothes and necessities tucked away in her guest room just in case he found himself in need, which he not so infrequently did. 

Or _had_ , she thought with a frown. Anything he had squirrelled away upstairs had been collecting dust for months. Not that she should be bothered by that; she had no right to be anyway.

Yet, it did and she was.

Henry seemed oblivious to her inner disquiet, and having enough sense not to argue, he spun on his heels and trudged up the stairs, but not without a sarcastic, “Yes, mother,” as he passed.

Y/N bit back a smile as he disappeared into the upstairs corridor. The exchange felt almost normal and with it came a certain sense of relief.

On that thought, Y/N retreated into the kitchen, tossing Henry’s sweatshirt in the washer before she settled into the motions of brewing a pot of coffee. Though it was more to occupy her hands than for any real need for refreshment, it was the usual thing to offer and right now she desperately clung to anything approximating habitual normalcy.

Nevertheless, her mind was preoccupied with the same thing it had been when she was sitting at the front window.

She and Henry were many things to each other: friends, wing-mates, and drinking buddies. Confidants and even emotional sounding boards when the situation called for it, but there was an invisible line—drawn by whom she wasn’t exactly sure—and neither of them put so much as a toe near it.

Okay, so maybe they flirted around it, but not with any seriousness. 

Except lately she had been thinking about it quite seriously and with alarming regularity. Y/N was keenly aware that their friendship was something special and rare, and she felt extremely foolish to consider jeopardising it, but it was high time to be honest about the fact that her feelings had changed. Evolved. 

Manifested the inevitable.

For Christ's sake, she had almost _kissed_ him. Y/N cringed as the memory replayed in her mind with perfect clarity. 

Henry had been so close that the heat from his body loomed around her, trapping in the crisp woodsy scent he always favoured. He had been dropping pithy teasing quips in her ear, batting back whatever clever rejoinder she had lobbed his way. Such was their way and always had been, and it was one of the things she loved most about their relationship.

The moment she turned toward him—so close that she could have easily brushed her cheek against his rough stubble—she had been savouring the sweet and tart biscuit he had offered, and the words came tumbling from her mouth before what remained of her good sense could stop them.

_“I could kiss you…”_

In her mind, the alarm bells had been deafening, but through the din, all she could think was, _what if she did_?

Henry had gone completely still when she had said it, and there was an almost imperceptible break in his breath. She wouldn’t have caught it except for his proximity had meant that it had been steadily brushing across the sensitive skin of her neck. Her eyes had dropped to his lips, his breath picked back up double time, and for a fraction of a second, Y/N had genuinely thought that _he_ might kiss _her._

Burgeoning desire shivered down her spine, just as it had in her memory. It was as startling now as it had been then.

In the end, he hadn’t kissed her. Other than Henry looking mildly alarmed, nothing came of the whole awkward interaction.

Y/N dragged her mind back to the present. Perhaps, she wondered with some degree of nausea, his behaviour was related to that. Something had certainly changed after that day.

Maybe in her case, not changed so much as began, but it was entirely possible that Henry had picked up on the shift in her feelings and felt unsettled by it. Given the somewhat precarious and public nature of Henry’s relationships, Y/N would completely understand if he felt the need to distance himself from something that held the potential for disaster. 

Y/N let out a resigned sort of sigh. Regardless, the writing was on the wall.

She was in love with him. 

She didn’t know when or how it happened, or if on some level she had always loved him, but if there was any doubt before, it was obliterated when she saw him racing toward her house. Her heart had hammered in her chest and a thousand different emotions coursed through her, and at that moment it was impossible to deny.

A rough noise, somewhere between a groan and self-deprecating laugh, clawed its way from her throat.

Truthfully, none of her frantic mental gymnastics mattered. Y/N willingly acknowledged that her opinion was far too biased to interpret any of his actions, and despite any changes in their atmosphere (either perceived or imagined), she didn’t have the nerve to ask him about it directly. 

She wished she did; it would certainly be more productive than agonising over it. 

So instead of actually dealing with her problems, she went full ostrich, which had somehow resulted in her agreeing to go on a date tonight. There was no doubt she was setting herself up for failure, but she was stubbornly sticking to it. Besides, the guy certainly didn’t deserve to be stood up or cancelled on at the last minute. 

“Y/N?”

She cursed and jumped, nearly dropping the half-filled coffee carafe in her hands in the process.

“Sorry?” With shaky hands, she set the carafe back on the counter. Her gaze fell and she saw that the mugs were already full and steaming. She had been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t even realised she had finished. 

“Do I pass inspection now?”

Y/N turned toward him; his cheeks were pink with warmth now instead of cold; his damp hair coiled riotously, and he looked snug and cosy in his time-worn loungewear. The entire picture left her with the sudden desire to curl into his lap.

 _For fuck’s sake_.

"Oh, ah—of course,” she croaked. “Sorry, I was just thinking about…” Her voice trailed off and heat began to creep across her skin as her mind spiralled into dangerous territory, "...my date.”

Technically it wasn’t a lie, and she refused to feel bad about making the excuse.

Henry’s quizzical expression was clouded with something she didn’t dare try to decipher. He leaned lazily against the door frame, his mouth turning with a wry smile. “Must be some date planned if it’s got you that worked up.”

Her throat bobbed nervously, and she dismissed his remark with an offhanded wave. “I’m fine.” 

_Coward_ , she thought of herself.

Henry slid her a disbelieving look but didn’t press the issue. He rubbed at the back of his neck as if he didn’t really want to say what he was about to say. “Well, if you aren’t too bothered, we should talk.”

Y/N turned her back to him as dread slithered through her veins, leaving a hollow chill in its wake. Nothing good ever came from that statement. 

After a steadying breath, she grabbed the mugs and turned around again, with the best approximation of a smile she could muster fixed to her face. 

“Of course.” She handed Henry a mug before squeezing past him.

There was no avoiding it. It was time to put on her big girl pants, be an adult, and deal with whatever shitstorm awaited her.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I anticipate this will be much more than three parts. I haven’t figured out if that is good or bad, but it is now reality. 
> 
> As of right now, I am aiming to update weekly, but whether or not that will be possible depends entirely on RL obligations, so the update schedule is subject to change. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Find me on Tumblr @ https://sweetdreamsofgelato.tumblr.com/


	3. Chapter 3

Henry turned and watched Y/N potter around the living room. She busied herself with mundane tasks, straightening a few books on the end table before she snagged a crumpled blanket from the floor and folded it with precision. 

Her phone rattled noisily on the sill, and Henry’s attention followed hers. His gaze sharpened, catching something indecipherable flicker across her face when she picked up the mobile. Her eyes darted quickly from side to side, and Henry surmised that she was likely checking her messages.

 _Ah yes_ , he thought savagely. The date. Not that the fact had truly slipped his mind. Her mystery man was presumably waxing poetic about how excited he was for tonight. No doubt itching to get his hands all over her. 

Henry was glad Y/N was across the room, otherwise, she might’ve heard him growl. 

His spiralling thoughts had him shoving away from the door frame with more force than necessary, and he immediately regretted it. His lower back ached viciously in protest and put a swift damper on the surge of jealousy. 

Taking one hit had been bad enough, though there was some solace in the fact that there hadn’t been any witnesses. The second one had been both far more painful and in full view of the entire neighbourhood. Anyone not already on the street surely must have watched from their windows, the racket from the bins undoubtedly drawing their curiosity. He just hoped no one had had the industrious thought to record it.

The shower may have washed away the sweat and dirt, but the embarrassment stuck, and the last thing he wanted was for it to go viral on the internet.

It certainly had not been the grand entrance he’d envisioned. Well, he supposed it had been, in a manner of speaking, but it definitely hadn’t been the sweeping romantic gesture he’d planned. 

No, that was a lie. He hadn’t planned anything. He had panicked. Quite spectacularly.

When he’d arrived—and caught his breath—it was all he could do not to confess everything right there in the front garden. He had been very close to doing so, if only so he didn’t lose his nerve, but something had stopped him. 

At that moment, next to the bloody rubbish bins, it had seemed not the thing to do. Not that he was inherently against public declarations of love. In his opinion, more people ought to be vocal and excited about sharing their affection for each other, but it was just…

Well…

He didn’t know. He fully admitted he hadn’t a clue what he was doing, but he was going to do it anyway. 

Whatever _it_ was.

He still didn’t know.

But he did know that it didn’t involve close proximity to rubbish bins.

He needed to stop thinking himself in circles. 

Y/N glanced at him, likely in response to the pained noises he couldn't seem to hold back when he walked. Henry took a sip of his coffee, if for no other reason than to allow the mug to mask whatever emotions played across his face. He eased himself onto the left side of the sofa, stifling any more hints of suffering as he sat. 

At least she was here. It hit him about halfway to her house that she might not even be home, which would have made everything terribly anti-climactic. 

And now he was here.

Fully prepared to pour his heart out.

If he could figure out what to say.

“I’m in love with you” was probably a good place to start, he thought wryly.

“Blanket?”

“Sorry?” Henry blinked rapidly in the direction of her voice.

“Do you want a blanket?”

“No, thanks.” 

“Are you too warm? I can adjust the heat. Crack a window?”

“It’s perfect as it is.”

“Do you need more to drink? How’s your coffee?” 

His mug stopped halfway to his mouth and his brow quirked with suspicion. “No, and it’s fine.”

“Oh,” she replied softly, turning back to the built-in bookcases flanking her fireplace. She let her fingers run gingerly along the spines of the neatly-lined rows of books. “Okay.”

A few more moments passed with Y/N idly fiddling and straightening.

“Y/N?”

“Yes?” She turned quickly and looked ready to pounce on anything he might ask her to do for him. Especially, he suspected, if it involved leaving his presence. 

“Sit,” he said, rather more firmly than he’d intended.

She looked from him to the opposite side of the sofa, and then back again, and Henry wondered if he’d ever seen her so tense.

Curious. Henry didn’t by any means relish the fact that she felt ill at ease, but he did admit there was an odd—and maybe somewhat inappropriate—sense of comfort knowing he wasn’t the only one feeling slightly discombobulated.

He inclined his head ever so slightly and added a gentle, “Please.”

“Right,” she finally managed, squaring her shoulders, “you wanted to talk.” 

She edged her way to the sofa, perching herself on the opposite end of before snagging her coffee from the table. She held it in front of her and looked very much like she was brandishing a shield. 

Y/N watched him expectantly, and the one time he needed it most, his mind abandoned him. He completely and utterly blanked.

_Say it._

His gaze shifted from Y/N and zeroed in on some point beyond her shoulder as his tongue grew thick and heavy in his mouth. His free hand ran over his jaw thoughtfully. 

_Say it._

Y/N’s voice wavered when she broke the silence. “What is it you want to talk about?”

“Biscuits,” he blurted, followed by a wince. His hand drifted up and he rested his face in his palm. 

“Biscuits?” she echoed, her mouth slanting in a slightly bemused smile.

His hand flicked away, and then—inexplicably—he said, “Jam biscuits.” 

Double wince. _Nope, that wasn’t helpful._

She looked increasingly more puzzled. “Jam biscuits?” 

“Well, not biscuits specifically,” Henry quickly amended.

Y/N scratched at her temple. “So, we’re not talking about biscuits?”

“Yes,” he immediately shook his head, “no.”

She watched him with strained patience. 

“No, we aren’t talking about biscuits, but they are tangentially related to the conversation,” he clarified in a rush, if that even really counted as clarification. Henry had serious doubts. 

_If he screamed into one of the cushions, would she be alarmed?_

Y/N gave him a worrying look. “Are you certain you didn’t hit your head earlier?”

The remark prickled his ego more than it ought. “I am fine,” he ground out. 

“If you say so,” she said dubiously, looking not the least bit convinced. 

“I do.” He made a flustered gesture with his hand, “I mean, I am.”

He paused, “Fine, that is.” 

Henry’s fingers skated over the back of his head. It was mostly a nervous gesture, but his thoughts were so muddled that he had the sudden and overwhelming urge to make sure he hadn’t actually suffered a head injury. 

Y/N made a slow rolling motion with her hand indicating that he ought to proceed with whatever train of thought he was riding. 

Henry let out a frustrated sigh and set aside his mug. He took a steadying breath as he angled toward her. “Do you remember a few months back, when you were over at my place?”

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

 _When I very nearly ravished you on the sofa._ “We were joking about how to ethically crossword.”

“Ah hah!” She flashed him a triumphant smile, “So you admit that you can use crossword as a verb.”

He levelled a hard stare at her. Whilst he was glad she didn’t seem as tense as she had been, he somehow didn’t appreciate the ill-timed joke. 

“Sorry, likely not the point,” she murmured. Her fingers drummed restlessly on her mug before she replied, “Yes, I remember.” 

“Something happened that day...” his voice trailed off and Henry shifted under a sudden swell of nervous energy. 

Y/N waited a beat, “Relating to biscuits?”

“Really?” His flat, disbelieving tone was beginning to manifest his impatience. It was mostly directed at himself, but she certainly wasn’t helping.

Henry wasn’t sure if she was being purposely distracting or if she was using humour to hide her unease. She did that sometimes, but considering how often she was facetious just for the sake of it, it was damned hard to tell the difference. Normally, he loved their banter, but it was hard enough battling himself to get the right words out. He didn’t want to have to go toe-to-toe with her dry wit as well.

“Sorry! You mentioned biscuits, and then mentioned that day, and you reminded me of _those_ biscuits, and they were really good,” she remarked before pausing another moment. “Are you trying to say you want some biscuits?”

_Oh for the love of—_

His agitation was clear as he ran a hand roughly through his hair. “Are you doing this on purpose?” he asked hotly.

“Doing what?”

“Completely derailing the conversation!”

“I think you use the word conversation a bit too loosely,” she countered sharply. “It’s more rambling about biscuits and meandering around an elusive, possibly non-existent point.” Her finger slowly drew a small circle in the air. 

“Jesus Christ, what is happening?” he muttered under his breath. He clamped a hand around his mouth, his fingers biting into the hinge of his jaw as he reined in his temper. This was not going as he’d hoped. Henry was fairly certain it was hurtling in the entirely opposite direction.

“We’re having a conversation _._ ” Her tone, whilst deliberately even, skirted dangerously close to mocking.

His entire demeanour piqued, but in his defence, she was being purposely provoking, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, it wasn’t for their mutual amusement. 

Something about that stung.

He barely resisted the urge to point an angry finger at her. “You are maddening sometimes, do you know that?” 

Y/N visibility bristled. “Says the man carrying on about biscuits!”

Henry scrubbed his hands frantically over his face. “ _What_ is going on with you?”

He immediately regretted it, because that flipped a switch in her. 

“ _Me?_ ” Y/N slammed her mug down on the table with enough force to send coffee lapping over the rim. “All right Henry, you want to have a conversation? Let’s have a conversation!” 

And then absolutely nothing and positively everything made sense.

* * *

Y/N wasn’t quite sure how she managed to go from intensely nervous, to mildly amused, to downright furious in such record time, but she did it. 

Not that it felt much like an achievement.

She had done her best to be patient, to tamp down the sour welling of anxiety as Henry searched desperately for whatever point he was trying to make.

Not that he ever found it, she thought bitterly.

She had then tried humour, especially after he mentioned that day, which apparently held some significance for the both of them. This was by far the most convoluted conversation she’d ever had; it seemed impossible not to approach it with some degree of levity. Whilst she fully admitted that her intentions hadn’t been completely altruistic, she had hoped that breaking the tension would help him as much as her. 

That had certainly backfired. 

And then he had the nerve to call her maddening, when he was in such a jumbled state that she genuinely worried he might be concussed. 

What was going on with her, indeed. That was rich. Rage rippled up her spine and her patience was spent, but she found her voice.

If he wasn’t going to make a point, then she would.

Y/N turned to him with a pointed glare, “Henry, you’ve barely spoken to me in months, during which you’ve been steadily pushing me away with no sort of explanation as to why.”

Henry opened his mouth to respond but Y/N made a firm cutting motion with her hand, effectively saying _don’t you dare interrupt._

He looked spitting mad, but wisely remained silent, and Y/N picked up with barely a pause.

“Then suddenly you _sprint to my house—_ nearly killing yourself in the process, by the way—all to cryptically say, ‘We need to talk’.” 

She angrily clawed at the air, since it seemed the only way to satisfy the powerful urge to shake him. “ _And you haven’t actually talked about anything except biscuits.”_

He couldn’t seem to help to interject, “Yes, well, about that—” 

Y/N bulldozed right over him. He had had his chance.

“And then _,_ ” she stabbed a finger wildly in his direction, “you have a go at me for trying to cut the tension by poking fun at a conversation that is so ridiculously muddled that it is impossible to follow!” 

She finally stopped, if only to breathe. Her chest heaved and her eyes burned as she silently seethed.

Their eyes locked, and Henry just watched her with that unnervingly penetrating stare of his. It burned into her when she rose with a huff. Y/N wasn’t sure if he had any intention of responding, but she was so rattled that her body itched to move, and she began a slow but agitated pace in front of the fireplace. 

“I didn’t _sprint_ here,” he finally said.

Y/N rounded and shot him an incredulous look. Seriously? That was his takeaway?

Henry’s mouth flattened into a grim line, then mumbled, “Sorry, not the point.”

“What _is_ the point, Henry?” By God, if he didn’t make it, she was leaving. Y/N didn’t care that it was her house. She would march straight out that door.

“Don’t go on that date.” 

Y/N slowly swivelled on her heel to fully face him, the shock of the statement evident on her face. She blinked and then blinked again, and when she finally regained the ability to think, her tone was equal parts surprised and irritated. “All of this is about my date?”

“Yes!” he exclaimed with such overwhelming relief it was nearly palpable. “Don’t go.” 

“Why not!” she shouted, because she was in a far too contrary mood not to, and after all this circumspect nonsense, she wanted—no, she deserved to hear the reason. 

Henry pushed himself up from the sofa with an anguished groan. He took a few deliberate albeit stiff strides and placed himself directly in her path to still her movement. His voice inched alarmingly close to frantic. “Because it will kill me if you do!” 

A harsh laugh caught in her throat, and Y/N’s chin butted upward at an unyielding tilt. That level of hyperbole definitely warranted sarcasm. “Well, don’t worry, you won't die today!”

Henry’s brow furrowed and he scowled, choking on whatever response he’d readied. He looked positively fierce but completely bewildered. 

“My date cancelled,” she explained with a slightly deflated air before she quickly looked away.

Henry made some sort of embittered noise and gripped the fireplace mantle with both hands for support. Physical or emotional, Y/N wasn’t sure. 

“Could you have not mentioned that _before_?”

“I didn’t realise it was relevant!” she snapped in his direction. Her gaze drifted toward the ceiling. “Honestly, who cancels at the last minute like that? It’s just _rude_ ,” she grumbled, mostly to herself.

“At least he didn’t stand you up,” Henry offered weakly, then hastened to say, “Sorry, not the point,” when Y/N snarled. 

Y/N didn’t disagree with his sentiment, but she was in no mood to say so.

Henry’s grip on the mantle tightened and relaxed repeatedly, and even through the confines of his worn-cotton henley, Y/N could see the hard lines of muscle running along his arms tense and release with the movement. As if he was readying for another round but debating if he should take the first swing.

Figuratively speaking, of course.

Henry let out a harried sigh and his head dropped low between his arms; he looked completely defeated. “What are we even fighting about?” 

There was just enough helplessness in his voice that it killed any remnants of her caustic mood. “I don’t know,” she bit off, more with weariness than ire. She truly didn’t anymore, and as emotionally tapped as she was, Y/N wasn’t even sure she cared. 

There was no more fight left, only exhaustion and whatever truth they still hadn’t managed to air.

“What a mess.” She pressed her fingertips to her temples and took a long moment to bring her emotions back to an even keel. “We’re idiots,” she finally muttered, her hands dropping listlessly to her sides. 

Henry chuckled softly, and his head lifted enough so his eyes could meet hers. Some of the playful twinkle in the vibrant blue had returned. “I won’t disagree with you on that.”

Y/N cracked a self-deprecating smile as she slowly sank into the low rollback armchair next to the fireplace. Silence stretched between them, and her hands smoothed over the tufted velvety fabric with idle rhythmic movements. Back and forth. It was oddly soothing to watch the pile move with each stroke. 

As the last remnants of annoyance faded away, guilt took residence with impressive speed. In the aftermath of their argument—which was the first genuine fight to her recollection—she still wasn’t quite sure what had set her off. She supposed that all of the hurt and anxiety of the past few months finally reached a tipping point, but even if she was justifiably annoyed at that, it still wasn’t an excuse to take it out on him. 

He obviously had something to say and was nervous about saying it. Hell, _she_ had something to say, and she had found neither the words nor the courage to say them. If she faulted him for that, then she was a massive hypocrite.

Henry muttered something under his breath and pushed away from the mantle. He hobbled over to the matching ottoman in front of her chair and carefully sat, though Y/N could see his pain plain as day. 

“Henry, your back—”

He quickly but gently cut her off. “Please, just let me get this out. I’ve made such a mess of everything. Let me explain, and then you can fuss over me as much as you want. Or not, depends on how you take it.”

She wanted to argue that they’d both done a fine job of making said mess, but she supposed she’d done enough arguing up to this point. Y/N nodded and sat back, clasped her hands in her lap, and kept her mouth firmly shut as requested.

Henry paused and had the vaguely strained look of a man on the verge of a long-winded speech, but then something suddenly flashed across his expression, as if he were snapped out of a daze and finally found clarity. 

His heavy-lidded gaze fell on hers, because damn the man, even when sitting he seemed to tower over her.

“No more dates,” he said. His voice was barely above a whisper and held a particular touch of urgency that made her heart skip a beat. He gently wrapped his hands around hers in her lap. “Please.”

The intricacy of emotion came off him in waves. She could hear it in the roughness of his voice and feel the kindling heat in the intimate space between them as he leaned in closer. 

“Why?” The question came out far breathier than she anticipated.

Henry reached up, the back of his fingers tremulously brushing across her cheek. The touch was so achingly tender that she couldn’t resist leaning into it. 

Her face tipped back just a touch, and her lips parted and breath caught at the sight of him. There was a stark hunger in his eyes that she’d never seen before, and the sheer heat of it nearly reduced her to cinders. 

His gaze flicked down to her lips, just like they had that day, and this time she knew that he wasn’t merely thinking; he was asking. 

Her chin dipped, and Henry closed what little distance was left between them. 

His lips descended softly onto hers, and he kissed her with gentle adoration. It was neither fiery nor demanding, yet Y/N felt it all the way to her toes. Love, desire, and terrifying uncertainty melded together in a guileless and unassuming kiss, and as she melted into him, it absolutely felled her.

Henry made a reluctant noise and broke away. His thumb skimmed softly over the curve of her jaw, and his strong fingers curling around the back of her neck. He pulled her closer and rested his forehead against hers. 

“I love you. I have for a long time. Longer than I suspect I even realised.” 

Y/N’s mouth curved into a half-smile. They really were idiots, though everyone was a fool in love, she supposed.

“I wasn’t pushing you away so much as keeping my distance, because well, you know how I get.” 

She did, and in hindsight, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t picked up on it. There were probably a thousand different reasons for that, none of which Y/N really wanted to think about at the moment. She was far too distracted by the thought of nibbling at his lower lip, then at the tempting little patch of exposed skin at the hollow of his neck, then down over—

“What are you thinking?” Henry asked, his lips turning in a positively feline smile.

Y/N wasn’t particularly embarrassed by the direction in which her thoughts had veered, but her face grew warm anyway. Her eyes trailed back up to meet his, and her arms slid up over his shoulders and around his neck. “I really want to kiss you right now,” she whispered.

“Thank God.”

Before she could move, or think, or even breathe, Henry was on her. His lips were no longer timid as they explored her, now catching her mouth with unapologetic fervour. 

Y/N met every graze and nip with her own. When her tongue slid over the seam of his lips, Henry shivered in her arms, and she savoured every moan and gasp that escaped his lips. 

He let out a feral growl and yanked her close. Henry’s touch was everywhere. His mouth blazed down her throat as his hand snaked into her hair, then gripped the back of her neck, kneading across her shoulders and down her back, taking in everything along the way. 

Her skin tingled as need swept across her nerves, racing to the very centre of her. 

Their first kiss was a tentative toe into the pool of desire, but this was a flying leap into the deep end. It was hungry and feverish and absolutely relentless. 

It was an onslaught and exactly how she envisioned kissing Henry could be, and yet far more than she ever imagined. 

Henry moved from the ottoman to the floor, kneeling before her as he slid deftly between her knees. “Oh god, I want every inch of you.”

His arm gripped around the small of her back, and Henry encouraged her legs around his waist. He leaned in and pulled her flush against him, and the heat of the embrace seared straight through to her bones.

He took her mouth in another blistering kiss, and as he pressed her further against the deeply-slanted back of the chair, he let out a strained moan. It didn’t ring of pleasure, and Y/N immediately pulled back.

“Henry,” she panted as she broke away, “are you sure you’re okay?”

“My back took two hits today,” he gritted through his teeth, “I just need to reposition.”

“Are you—wait, twice?” There was a story there, she was sure of it, but she’d wait till she could think straight to wheedle it out of him.

“I’ll explain later.” He hurriedly tugged her back to him. His lips caught a particularly sensitive spot below her ear, and the ache in her belly grew fierce.

It was the last thing she wanted to do, but she had to be the voice of reason whilst she still had the faculties to do so. Her hands grasped at his sides to not jostle him, but her fingers still longed to slink under the hem of his shirt. 

“If you are injured, we ought to stop.” 

“I will suffer through.”

“Just what every girl longs to hear,” Y/N replied dryly.

“You know what I mean.” His fingers slipped under the edge of her jumper and skated across the bare skin of her torso. They dipped along the curves of her waist and up and over the delicate fabric that covered her breasts.

They both moaned, though she wasn’t sure who sounded more desperate.

“It can wait,” she insisted breathlessly, arching into every touch and tease. If his hands kept working their magic, she wasn’t sure she’d want to.

“Can it?” 

“Yes.” It didn’t sound the least bit convincing to her own ears, but it must have to Henry because he immediately ceased his delightful torture.

“Fine,” he sighed with resignation, though he couldn’t hold back a contented hum when he rested his head on the softness of her chest. “Just give me a moment.”

“For your back?” she asked slyly.

“Amongst other things.”

Y/N chuckled at that. Henry eased against her, and she ran her fingers through his hair, enjoying the soft spring of the curl. With each stroke, she could feel his tension bleeding away and her own nerves calming. 

When his breath finally became soft and steady, she suddenly asked, “What were you muttering about earlier?”

“When?” Henry’s murmur was half-muffled by her chunky knit jumper.

Y/N still caught the faint edge of sleepiness in his voice, and her fingers continued to run soothing lines across his scalp. “By the fireplace.”

“Have you always had the irrepressible need to know everything?” he asked flatly.

“Yes,” she answered immediately and with all seriousness, but really he ought to know that by now.

Henry hesitated and looked slightly embarrassed. “I was grumbling that if I got anywhere near the floor that I probably wouldn't be able to get up again.”

Her lips pressed together, holding back the laughter that bubbled in her throat. “Can you get up?”

“No,” he said in a decidedly matter-of-fact tone. Henry’s face tilted toward hers and his lips slowly turned in that devastatingly wicked smile he so often wielded, “but I can think of worse places to be than stuck between your legs.”

She gasped. In all their years of friendly flirting, he’d never said anything so suggestive. Y/N would in no way lay claim to an innocent blush, but her face erupted in heat all the same. 

“Jesus, Henry, you’re the worst,” she muttered. In the best way, truly, though she kept that bit to herself.

“I know,” he murmured in the most self-satisfied manner, “and now you’re stuck with me.”

She slid him a devious smile of her own. “Am I? I can still walk.” 

“Just you wait.” Henry gave her an arch look, then his grip tightened and he nestled his face further into her chest. “Besides, you wouldn’t be so cruel as to abandon me in my time of need, would you?” 

Y/N gave a false sigh, fully enjoying his weight on top of her, “I suppose not. 

Reluctantly, she shimmied out of his grip, but she did make a point of making as much contact as possible along the way. 

He let out another pained groan, and this time Y/N was certain it had nothing to do with his back. 

“That was intentional,” he growled.

Y/N feigned innocence as she helped him up and onto the couch. As Henry lay back, she snagged a blanket and draped it over him. 

“Do you mind if I take a nap,” Henry yawned, his voice taking on the unmistakable slur of exhaustion, “I think my morning run has caught up with me.”

“Of course,” Y/N answered, giving him a soft pat on the shoulder as she finished tucking the blanket around him, “I’ll get some medicine for your back.”

Henry nodded wearily, and as Y/N glanced back, she bent over, her lips dropping close to his ears.

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT 8 Dec: The next chapter will not be up as soon as expected. Between a covid outbreak at my child's school (my family tested negative, thankfully), the holidays, and another lockdown, my focus is spread quite thin. This story is NOT abandoned, but chapters will probably take longer. Thanks for reading, and I hope to update soon! <3
> 
> Find me on Tumblr @ https://sweetdreamsofgelato.tumblr.com/


	4. Chapter 4

Things were weird. 

Okay, maybe not weird so much as different. 

Weirdly different, perhaps.

Whilst the most important things between them remained the same and the heart of their friendship was unchanged, their new relationship status meant the rules were different and the stakes were higher. Weeks had passed since their rather bungled declarations of love and Y/N still felt unsettled. When she wasn’t preoccupied with latent mixed feelings, she was riddled with guilt about having them at all. 

Despite the unwelcome misgivings, she wanted him and their new relationship. She knew that to be true, but the understanding that there was absolutely no going back constantly lurked in the shadows of her thoughts and coloured every decision she made. 

Simply put, it was a change, and generally speaking, she didn’t like it. She never had. She preferred her well-defined comfort zone, thank you very much.

Which was why Y/N was so thankful it was Saturday because this Saturday meant brunch with Nicole, who was—next to Henry—her closest and dearest friend. Saturday Brunch had been a standing monthly appointment for years, but today it was a touchstone amongst the ever-changing realities of her life. 

It was routine and predictable and just the kind of comfort she needed right now. 

Nicole’s choice of locale did not disappoint either. The enclosed terrace offered a truly magical respite from the cold and dreary weather out of doors. Frosted birch branches, glimmering with fairy lights and elegantly draped strands of silver beads, extended floor to ceiling. They were expertly interwoven with an expanse of verdant pine garland studded with crisp white and vibrant plum florals that climbed upward into a wispy and whimsical canopy of wintery foliage. The lantern light above was warm but dim, drawing attention back down to the small, low burning pure white candles centred atop the grey marble tables. 

Y/N sighed and sank into the plush faux fur draped over the back of her rattan chair, luxuriating in its tactile warmth. There was a cosy intimacy in the gentle tinkling of glasses and the muted hum of conversations around them. As she perused her menu, she drew a deep breath, taking in the indulgent spicy-sweet aromas of that mingled with heady savoury scents wafting through the air. It was as close to an approximation of heaven on earth if she ever experienced one.

“So, is it a secret?” 

“Ehrm, my order?” Y/N glanced up and found Nicole examining her with a shrewd look. She smiled awkwardly. “I’m sorry. I’m horribly distracted.” She was, and not just by the menu or the scenery.

Which Nicole zeroed in on with a jaunty smirk. “Not just by your thoughts on food, I suspect.”

Y/N raised her menu ever so slightly, just enough to break Nicole’s unnervingly perceptive line of sight.

“It’s understandable,” Nicole forged ahead undeterred, “I imagine Henry is very _distracting._ ” 

Y/N tilted her head to the side to peer around her menu, and her lips twitched with a reticent smile at Nicole’s playful expression. No matter how stuck in her head she was, Nicole’s presence was always a welcome salve to a woebegone mood. 

“If you are asking if we are making a public announcement, not yet. We agreed it was best to keep it under the radar as long as possible.”

Well, Y/N requested and—after a bit of persuasion—Henry reluctantly agreed. Despite his habit of being rather private, he seemed ready to announce their relationship to the world, and whilst she appreciated his confidence in them, the thought of millions of strangers having vested interest in her personal life made her break out in flop sweat. 

Henry made a strong argument for putting out a discreet but proactive statement to control the narrative, but Y/N was still hesitant to make anything officially public too soon. Once the press got wind of it, her entire life would descend into chaos. She was dreading it with every fibre of her being, and it had her constantly on edge.  
  
He stalwartly declared to protect her, and whilst she didn’t doubt his capabilities in that regard, Henry couldn’t protect her from everything. When faced with this reality, Y/N could tell that his pride stung, but he did (rather grumbly) admit that it made sense to safeguard aspects of her life that would be inevitably scrutinised, and that took time.

“Only those closest to us know as of now,” Y/N added, placing her napkin in her lap as their server brought a plate of miniature pastries and two peachy bubbly cocktails.

“Duly noted.” Nicole made a zipping motion across her mouth.

She and Y/N took a moment to give their orders, and Nicole spoke in a low and distinctly conspiratorial air when the server departed. “Shall we use a codename when talking about him?” 

There was an unmistakable gleam of mischief in her friend’s eyes. Nicole always did enjoy anything approximating intrigue. “I don’t think it’s necessary. His first name is hardly so conspicuous.”

“More's the pity.” Nicole let out a disappointed sigh, but she quickly held up her glass, tipping it toward Y/N in a toast. “Cheers to you both.”

“Thank you.” She tapped her drink against her friend’s and then smiled gamely, “and don’t let me ruin your fun.” 

“Well then, I shall have to think of a good one.” 

Nicole’s expression turned devious. Contemplative, but positively devious, and Y/N laughed through an impending sense of dread. Not for herself, of course. It was purely for Henry.

“Anyway,” Nicole took a long draw of her drink. “I am not the least bit surprised by this development. We were wondering how long it would take for you two to see what was painfully obvious to the rest of us.”

Y/N’s glass stopped halfway to her mouth and she stuttered, “W-we?” 

“We,” Nicole leaned forward and plucked a carefully selected pastry from the plate between them. “As in, all of our mutual friends.” 

“ _All_?” Surely that was an exaggeration. Please, let it be an exaggeration.

“All,” Nicole confirmed. “Your bond of friendship aside, the chemistry has always been off the charts. Frankly, it’s shocking that it took this long for you two to sort it out.”

Y/N pondered that a moment before choosing a small sugared bun with a sunny yellow centre for herself. “Surely if that level of chemistry was there from the beginning, I would have picked up on it sooner,” she remarked, though even she admitted there was a lack of conviction behind the statement.

Nicole gave her an indulgent look. “I suppose that it was obvious to everyone save the two people that mattered.” 

Y/N took a bite of her pastry, and her peevish expression melted into one of pure bliss. The bun was pillowy and moist and the lemony spice of the cardamom matched perfectly with the velvety vanilla pastry cream in the centre. It was so good that it nearly distracted her from the overwhelming sense of embarrassment brought on by her apparent lack of awareness. 

Almost, but she liked to consider herself a fairly perceptive person, and chemistry seemed a thing she ought to easily pick up on, especially given how long she and Henry had been friends. The fact that she had been generally unaware of it grated her ego.

“And you didn’t think to say anything?” Y/N said pertly before polishing off the remainder of her regrettably small bun.

Nicole straightened as if squaring her pride on her shoulders. “I do not play matchmaker, even for someone I love as much as you.” Her expression twisted with distaste. “Too much emotional responsibility.” 

Y/N couldn’t fault her for that. It was hard enough being accountable for one’s own romantic misadventures, let alone wilfully taking on the responsibility of others’. 

“Besides, I had faith that you two would find your way.” 

“No one else said anything either.” Y/N mused aloud as she casually leaned back and gave Nicole a calculating look. “Curious…” 

Nicole’s fingertips fiddled with the well-polished handles of her flatware, cleared her throat and answered, “They may have been warned not to say a word.” 

Y/N watched her intently, and Nicole’s demeanour took on a distinctly sheepish quality before she added, “Okay, fine. Perhaps I meddled a bit, but it was for your benefit. It wouldn’t be right if you felt pressured into a relationship just because all of your friends picked up on the attraction between you two.”

“Fair enough.” Y/N sighed before thanking their server who materialised and expediently swapped their empty glasses with fresh drinks and steaming cups of milky coffee. She couldn’t go back and change anything, so there was little point in languishing over it. 

“But now that you have found your way, I expect a full report.” 

The embarrassment and subsequent annoyance faded away. With a low chuckle, she replied, somewhat teasingly, “What shall I brief you on first, General?”

Nicole pinned her with a silent and steady stare.

Y/N returned the look in kind. She had a very good idea where this was going.

“Are you going to make me ask you plainly?”

It wouldn’t be the first time. “Are you seriously asking me about it _here_?”

“What is the point of a boozy brunch if not to entertain each other with the steamy details of our exploits,” Nicole frowned, “Or your exploits, rather. I am the embodiment of all that is pure and chaste at the moment.” It was a statement steeped in sarcasm with a faint tinge of bitterness.

Y/N eyed her noticeable scepticism.

“Okay, I’ll admit that was a bit of an exaggeration, but I have hit a dry spell and I’m not too ashamed to say that I am living vicariously.”

“Well, I am loath to disappoint, but there is nothing to report.”

Nicole’s eyes went wide and her posture immediately straightened. “Wait, you haven’t…” She cautiously surveyed the other diners, and Y/N was silently appreciative that Nicole found her sense of discretion when she leaned forward over the table to whisper, “...you know.”

“Not yet.” Y/N shifted awkwardly under the heightened scrutiny.

Nicole let out a low whistle as she sat back and remarked, with a certain degree of awe, “I admire your self-restraint.” 

Y/N grimaced and took a sip of her fresh cocktail.

“I would have climbed him like a tree by now.”

She choked, her eyes stinging and vision blurring as the bubbly drink fizzed up her nose. 

“If you don’t mind my saying so,” Nicole hastened to add whilst Y/N sputtered into her hand. 

“No,” Y/N managed through a cough. She set her glass on the table and groped for the napkin in her lap. Touching the linen to her lips, she waved off the concerned glances of other diners seated nearby. “It’s fine,” she wheezed and directed her attention back to Nicole. “I suspect it is more an objective statement rather than personal opinion.”

Nicole nodded judiciously. “Precisely.”

Y/N returned her napkin to her lap and abandoned what was left of her cocktail for her latte. She took a sip and a moment to enjoy the rounded bitterness on her tongue before continuing. “It’s just that he injured his back, so…”

Nicole’s gaze homed in on hers. There was that twinkle of mischief again. “There are a great many things a man can do on his back,” her lips turned in an impish smile, “or have done to him for that matter.”

Heat flashed across Y/N’s cheeks as she murmured, “I suppose that’s true.”

“So,” Nicole continued, giving her a thoughtful but sympathetic look, “I suspect it isn’t just about his injury.”

The corners of Y/N’s mouth tightened and her gaze drifted briefly toward the ceiling. “Not entirely.”

Nicole tore off a bit of her pastry, popped it in her mouth and chewed, regarding Y/N patiently all the while. She had a remarkable talent for extracting information with carefully-timed silence and an encouraging air, and even though Y/N was wise to this, it somehow managed to work on her every time. 

“It will change everything,” Y/N finally murmured as she deflated in her seat.

“Everything has already changed,” Nicole remarked, making quick work of the rest of her pastry.

Y/N didn’t entirely disagree with her, but that level of intimacy felt far more significant than everything else. That, and she was nervous. Extremely nervous, which seemed ridiculous considering she was not inexperienced by any means, but it was Henry and…

It was Henry. That was pretty much it.

“You do want to, yes?” Nicole asked suddenly, breaking the awkward silence that stretched between them. “Because if you don’t, then that is an entirely different conversation.” 

Her thoughts drifted back to the day they confessed their feelings, the searing kisses that followed, and how the faintest brush of his fingertips on her body ignited a fire in her veins that burned through all rational thought. Had Henry not been injured, Y/N was certain that they never would have made it the bedroom before that blaze consumed them both. But as it happened, it hadn’t happened, and Y/N had been left to do what she does best. 

Overthink.

Y/N decided that there was no point to being anything other than completely honest. “Lack of desire is not the issue—for either of us,” she sighed. “It’s just, it feels like when we cross that line there will be no going back, even though I know there isn’t any going back either way.”

“It is not the things we do in life that we regret, but rather the things we did not do when given the chance,” Nicole replied, trading her empty cocktail glass for her coffee.

“Is that some tragically butchered quote you found on the internet?”

“Yes, but the sentiment rings true.” Nicole pointed emphatically in her direction. “I’m not telling you what I think you should do—that is not my place, but I will say that if life presents you with an opportunity to either do or not, you should _do_ , if you catch my drift.”

Now there was a contradictory declaration if she’d ever heard one. “I understand your meaning,” Y/N assured her with a nod and a charitable smile. The innuendo was barely veiled as it was. 

Before Nicole had a chance to badger her further, a blessed angel in the form of their server appeared with their meals.

“This looks amazing.” Y/N inhaled deeply over her steaming plate and her lips curved up in an appreciative smile. If there was anything in this world that brightened a day, it was delicious food, and today she was shamelessly eating her feelings. She ordered a particularly sinful choice: toasted brioche piled precariously high with her favourite toppings, all generously sauced with rich hollandaise.

“There is no delicate way to eat this, is there?” she remarked with a slight frown, knife and fork in hand as she surveyed her dish for a point of attack.

Nicole glanced down at Y/N’s plate. “Not likely. Best just to dive right in.”

Y/N let out an unconvinced hum. 

“Don’t overthink it. It’s going to be messy, but oh so delicious.”

She looked at Nicole and paused a beat. “You aren’t talking about my meal, are you?”

Nicole flashed her a cheeky grin as she grabbed her own knife and fork. “I was always speaking of a meal, but I was never talking about your food.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This certainly took longer than expected and I am sorry for it. On top of the general chaos that is life in a pandemic, I am now dealing with a sudden family tragedy and it is a lot. I am still writing when I am able, but things are rough at the moment, so updates wont be consistent. The story is not abandoned, though.
> 
> I hope everyone enjoyed the holidays, and I wish everyone a happy and healthy new year!

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr @ https://sweetdreamsofgelato.tumblr.com/


End file.
